


What We Owe to Udders

by mundungus42



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fade to Black, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 22:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21435703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mundungus42/pseuds/mundungus42
Summary: Lucius is missing. Draco is in danger of losing his allowance. Severus needs Lucius's help to fulfill a contract. Hermione needs career advice. Warning: contains dairy.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Kudos: 96
Collections: sshg_giftfest





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shiv5468](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiv5468/gifts).

> Written for Shiv5468 for the 2018 round of the SSHG Giftfest of Livejournal. A frothy blend of the following prompts: 1. Severus has been writing self help books for Muggles after the war, and he's really very good at it. Slytherin rules translate well to office politics. Hermione is sent by the Ministry to investigate what he's up to... only it turns out she needs a little career help too. 2.There are a lot of spare house elves lying around after the war and all the Purebloods - bar the Malfoys - are popped into Azkaban. Hermione has to deal with it and she needs Slytherin help. 3. Lucius goes missing. The Ministry doesn't care. Narcissa really doesn't care. Only Draco and Severus do, and they expect Hermione to help.
> 
> As this is a finished work that was written to the recipient's prompts, concrit is not being solicited.

The door to Severus Snape's Diagon Alley office was solid oak, chosen for its protective qualities as much as its ability to muffle sound, and fastened with cold iron, which absorbed offensive spells like a sponge. However, it was still a door, and one design flaw that had never been remedied was its vulnerability to being banged upon insistently, as it was at that particular moment.

Severus had been absorbed in watching the cursor on his laptop screen blip in and out of existence, so the interruption was slightly more welcome than it might otherwise have been, but he wasn't about to let his caller know that.

“Uncle Severus!” yelled a familiar voice. “I know you're in there!”

Severus uttered an oath that was just loud enough to be heard outside the door, but not so loud as to be mistaken for raving. He closed his laptop, slid it into a desk drawer, seized the sheaf of unanswered correspondence that he had quarantined to the far corner of his desk, and spread it haphazardly about, hoping that it would appear to his godson that he was interrupting something important.

There was another volley of banging from the door. “Uncle Severus!”

Rising, Severus tapped his toe on a low button disguised as a knot in the floorboard, which released a cascade of clicks and clunks as the cold iron cogs and works turned to release the lock.

“Enter if you must,” he said, aiming for gruff rather than forbidding.

The door opened to admit Draco Malfoy, resplendent in slim-cut robes in emerald and black houndstooth. He paused in the late morning sun that streamed in from the window, his artistically coiffed hair gleaming like corn silk in the late morning light, and he pulled out his instaspell wand.

“Hang on a tick,” he said, raising his arm and pointing the tip of the wand down at himself. He lowered his chin and let a cheeky smirk spread slowly across his face. There was a pleasant ping, and Draco flicked his wand to cast the moving photo of himself into the air. He made quick, sure adjustments to the frame and colours.

“Are you on JellyTin?” asked Draco. “I can tag you if you are. Or come up with a terribly witty magtag for you.”

“'Why, _hello_, Uncle Severus,'” Severus said sarcastically. “'So kind of you to see me unannounced! I do hope I'm not interrupting your very important work close to a deadline.”

“I'll take that as a no, then,” said Draco, who muttered a soft spell to cast the image into the ether.

“I trust you didn't come here for the benefit of your tinhats.”

“Jellyheads,” corrected Draco. “Specifically, Draconites. That's what they call themselves now, isn't that clever?”

“If they ever were clever, I'm sure their wits have since dulled from staring at fatuous self-portraits of you all day.”

Draco laughed as he scrolled through messages that flashed across the handle of his wand. “Never change, Uncle. But I am on a serious errand. Have you—“ he stopped abruptly and seized one of the envelopes that had been scattered artistically over Severus's desk.“That utter cow!” he exclaimed, tossing the envelope dramatically back on the desk.

Severus took the envelope—ivory, expensive cotton blend, engraved, and bearing a white and gold narcissus seal, rimmed with black wax. Cissy. Odd, she hadn't used that seal in decades.

“Surely you don't mean your mother,” said Severus in his most forbidding voice.

“I very much mean my mother!” said Draco. “She asked me to help promote her stupid House Elf charity event on JellyTin, which, in a show of flawless filial devotion, I did. But am I invited? Apparently not! And that's not the worst of it. I've been served notice that she's cutting off my allowance, and now she's ignoring my owls. I asked Mr. Fromme if he could help me, but the old turncoat says he's representing my mother and that I should retain my own solicitor! Can you believe the nerve of her, disappearing off the face of the earth when I need her?”

“It seems to be something of a family trait.”

Draco paused mid-whine. “You don't know where Father's gone, either.”

“It's not the first time he's ignored my correspondence when he owes me comments on a draft. However, this bout of silence has gone on significantly longer than any other.”

Draco was fiddling with the handle of his wand once more. “Hang on a mo'. Must reply to St. Elmo's Firewhisky, they want permission to use the image I just took. They're the right brand profile.”

“Are they any good?”

“Never had the stuff. But they're sending me a case. If you can tell me anything about where Father is, I'll share.” The planes of Draco's face were cast into deeper contrast by the light emitting from his wand. Severus considered telling him that squinting was going to exacerbate his frown lines, but he knew he had little room to talk on that subject.

Severus's eye fell on Cissy's invitation, and he picked it up, running his fingertips over the seal before cracking it and sliding out the contents. The envelope began to squeak out a feeble rendition of a Schubert string quartet. Severus crumpled it and tossed it into the bin, where it continued its tinny offering.

Draco rolled his eyes, a considerable feat of coordination while his eyes were still fixed on his wand.

After tossing aside the extraneous layers of tissue paper between each piece of the invitation, the RSVP card, the RSVP envelope, the donation card, and the menu, Severus finally located the information that told him what on earth he was invited to.

“Please tell me your mother doesn't actually expect me to attend this.”

“You can tell she really wants you to attend if she added a handwritten note on the RSVP card,” said Draco, still not looking up.

It took Severus a moment to locate the RSVP card he'd cast aside, and he kicked the dustbin in hopes that it would silence the string quartet. However, no note was forthcoming, and the envelope kept sawing away.

“No note. What does that mean?”

“Isn't this more your area than mine? Social advancement and whatnot?” asked Draco, finally looking up from his wand with a cross expression.

“I write professional advice books for Muggles, not encyclopaedias of the tedious minutiae of Wizarding toffs. I'm not Millicent bloody Manners.”

Draco took the scattered pieces of disembowelled invitation and assembled them neatly in front of him. “The invitation is aspirational. She would be delighted for you to attend but doesn't believe anything she can say could tempt you to put in an appearance.”

“She's got that right,” grumbled Severus. He took the event information card and was about to use it as kindling to set fire to the contents of the dustbin, but something on the card caught his eye. “How on earth did she get Potter to let her use Grimmauld Place?”

“Didn't you hear? She bought it off him,” said Draco. “As one of the few Black relations in good standing, she always felt the place should have gone to her and not that... well, it's unseemly to speak ill of the dead.”

A few well-chosen ill words about Sirius Black would have cheered Severus considerably. “I can't imagine Potter reacted well to that argument.”

“Mother can be quite persuasive when there's something she wants.”

Severus's mind unwillingly revisited the vermin-infested house of horrors, with its ghastly wall of House Elf heads. “Charming spot for a charity do.”

“Say what you will about Mother's family,” said Draco, “but they were sincere in following the old ways of honouring their retainers. By the time Mother's had her way with the place, you'll hardly recognise it.”

“If I never set eye on it again, it'll be too soon.”

“I can take the invitation off your hands, if you like,” said Draco. “If I went in your stead, I might be able to discover something. Father's whereabouts, why my own mother's avoiding me, what awful thing Pansy Parkinson's wearing. The opportunities are endless.”

“Someone might as well get some use out of it.”

Draco grinned. “I'll post the invitation on JellyTin. She won't be able to rescind it without losing face.”

“Try to imagine the depth of my interest,” said Severus.

Draco laughed. “It was good to see you, Uncle. I'll let you know what I find out. And you will let me know if you hear from Father? I do need to speak with him rather urgently.”

“I daresay you'll be the fourth or fifth to know.”

Draco paused once more in the sunbeam to smile cheekily at JellyTin, this time flashing the invitation at his wand, with certain details artfully obscured by his fingers.

There was a knock at the door.

“One minute,” called Draco, frowning at the moving photo hanging in the air before him and repositioning himself slightly.

Severus glanced at his calendar and felt like kicking himself for forgetting that he'd scheduled a visit from Granger today. Perfect. He steeled his resolve and his posture and pressed the door button with his foot.

The door swung open to reveal Hermione Granger, dressed in her usual black robes over blue jeans. She blinked behind her horn-rimmed spectacles at the sight of Draco finishing his revised shot.

“I do hope I'm not interrupting,” said Hermione.

Draco fumbled his wand. “I... erm...” He finally managed to slip his wand into his waistcoat and smoothed a few non-existent flyaway strands of hair

“Draco was just leaving,” said Severus.

“Yes! I was! I mean, thank you, Uncle,” he said, giving a small formal half-bow. “I'll call again when I have more news.” He nodded at Hermione. “Granger.”

“Malfoy,” she said neutrally as he passed, her eyes amused.

Draco paused behind her and made a flailing gesture in Hermione's direction. He mouthed words that appeared to be “Jammy bastard” before the door swung closed.

“What was that about?” asked Severus as Hermione seated herself across from him.

“We were on a JellyTin panel at the HybridTech trade show a few months ago. He may be one of our most popular accounts, but I don't think he'd given much thought as to who actually created it. It was a bit weird, to be honest.”

Severus snorted. “I haven't seen anyone shut him up so effectively in years.”

“I'm still getting used to it,” she said. “I worked on instaspell wands for years in an office that used to get mistaken for a broom cupboard when I wasn't in, and suddenly I have a staff of forty people due to the insatiable demand for instaspell wands, new mApps, and networks. It's completely mad!”

“Yet you still take time out of your busy schedule for basic matters of ensuring compliance with the International Statute of Secrecy.”

She gave a winsome half smile. “Would you accept revisions from anyone other than me?”

“Doubtful.”

“All right,” she said, sitting forward. “Let's see what you've got.”

“I'm still awaiting a final version from Lucius,” said Severus. “I confess, our meeting slipped my mind. Sorry for not saving you the trip.”

“I could offer suggestions on what you have now. I doubt Lucius will suggest anything that will run afoul of the Statute. I daresay after fourteen books you're reasonably familiar with the sorts of things I flag for changes.”

“I'd rather you didn't,” said Severus. “Lucius's suggestions usually result in substantial rewrites, and I simply do not know when I'll hear from him. Again, I'm sorry to have wasted your time.”

“Suit yourself,” said Hermione.

She paused, which was odd. Hermione rarely had to work to put together precisely what she wanted to say. “Severus, I have a favour to ask you.”

Ahah. That explained the overly-generous offer to streamline the approval process.

He sighed. “What is it?”

“I want to leave the Ministry.”

“Delighted to hear it. But you ought to tell that to them rather than me,” said Severus.

“Well, yes. Obviously. But what do I tell them?”

“'I quit' is traditional. Also succinct.”

“That's not quite what I meant.”

“People quit their jobs all the time, Hermione. Everyone is replaceable, and loyalty is for Hufflepuffs.”

“Or 'the Diligent,'” said Hermione, alluding to the euphemism he used for Hufflepuffs in his books. “Don't worry, I did manage to retain some of _Ambition for the Diligent _ when I cleared it for Muggle consumption. It's one of the things that got me to this point.”

“I'm gratified to hear that, but it really doesn't explain what you want from me.”

“I know I want to leave,” said Hermione. “What I don't know is what I want to do next.”

“Go on holiday, get very drunk, read all the novels you haven't had time to read for the past decade, and then think about it.”

“Seriously, Severus.”

“I'm being perfectly serious. That's precisely what I did after I resigned my post at Hogwarts. After convalescing from my considerable injuries, of course.”

Hermione frowned. “That's how you decided to go from teaching potions and saving the world to writing books for Muggles?”

Severus gazed at the woman seated across from him, her fingers tightly laced to keep her hands from shaking, and looking both hopeful and slightly terrified. For the past eight years, she had done the tedious job of reviewing his work for compliance with the International Statute of Secrecy, and she'd done so fairly and professionally. She'd also been quite decent to him, despite his frequent needling, long after she became successful enough to delegate the work to someone else. While this hardly put him in her debt, competent allies were difficult to come by.

It beggared belief to think that Hermione and Draco were the same age. And frankly, talking to anyone but Draco was better than staring as his blank document and brooding over Draco's whining and Lucius's silence.

He sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin. “I had a Floo connection in Newark, and as usual, there were unexpected fireplace malfunctions. I ended up having several hours to entertain myself, and I saw a book shop just across the Muggle barrier. I'd read most of the fiction section, so I was browsing the magazines when I spied a magazine called <i>_Cosmopolitan<i>_ whose cover proclaimed that the issue contained a quiz, which piqued my interest.”

“_Cosmopolitan_? Did it recommend a fragrance based on the colour of your favourite knickers?”

Severus waved his hand. “Are you or aren't you under fifty, Granger? It was 'What's Your Anal Sex Style?'”

Hermione made a choking noise and blushed, which made Severus smirk inwardly, even as he continued in a lofty tone.

“Seeing that inanely provocative quiz, clearly aimed at a very different audience than myself, and nonetheless feeling compelled to pick up the magazine and flip to it made me realise the degree to which all people, myself included, worry that someone else, even a magazine that overuses words like 'bae' and 'inspo,' can tell them something about themselves that they didn't already know. A glance at the self-help section revealed endless books purporting to tell people who they are and how to compensate for it, all with varying degrees of rigour in their methodologies. If any Muggle with few to no credentials can design a personality test that's used for hiring for decades, surely my years of observing the Sorting Hat, to which one cannot lie or hide one's personality, qualified me to offer my own spin on the same.”

She blinked. “I wasn't expecting that.”

“What, that I admit to knowing my anal sex style?”

This startled a laugh out of her. “That you'd be, well, so candid. And that deciding on a new career might be simpler than I'm trying to make it.”

“The point of the story is not that the decision was simple. The point is that I might never have had the idea, which seems simple in retrospect, if I hadn't removed myself from my previous situation and indulged my idle curiosity.”

“What if you'd been bad at writing?” asked Hermione.

“Then I'd have been bad at it and continued writing anyway because it amused me. Only Lucius would have been the wiser, but we both have enough on one another from our youthful forays into hair metal that I needn't worry about being blackmailed.”

That made her laugh. “All right. So I'll quit the Ministry, go on holiday, and wait for the hand of fate.”

“Don't forget the alcohol,” said Severus. “I doubt I'd have picked up _Cosmopolitan _if I hadn't first imbibed a few of their namesake cocktails in the bar across the way.”

Hermione's eyes twinkled. “You drink cosmopolitans?”

“Only for the vitamin C. And the vodka.”

“Note to self: vitamin C and vodka,” said Hermione.

There was another knock at the door.

“Uncle Severus, it's me again!” shouted Draco from the corridor.

Severus sighed. “If you've no more questions?”

“No, you've given me plenty to think about.”

Severus toed open the door once more, and Draco came fluttering in bearing a long white gift box with a dreadfully familiar silver instaspell logo on it.

Merlin preserve him.

“Sorry, I forgot to give this to you before.” he said, setting it on Severus's desk. “You'll thank me for it one day.”

“Nice. Is that the X3 model?” asked Hermione.

“The X4. I took the liberty of curating a selection of spells. All you need to do is touch the base to the handle of your wand to set the magical resonance to what you're used to with your wand.”

Severus scowled. “You don't actually expect me to use this toy for serious spell casting.”

“It's not a tool for serious spell casting, it's intended for easing everyday use and for connecting with other witches and wizards,” said Hermione, her voice smooth as one who'd delivered the statement a thousand times. It was probable she had.

“What if one thinks most witches and wizards are utter twats?”

Draco snorted, but Hermione smiled. “That's why you have the ability to curate your experience. Here, I'll show you.”

She expertly popped the box open on hidden hinges and accepted Severus's reluctantly offered wand. There was a pleasant chime as she pressed the handles of the wands together, and the instaspell wand released a swirl of mauve sparks that formed the instaspell logo before disappearing.

“All yours,” she said, handing both wands back to Severus.

Severus held the instsapell wand gingerly in two fingers. It was heavier than his wand, and the glass surface of the wand felt unnaturally slick compared to the wood of his wand.

Draco tutted. “Not like that. Just hold it like you would your regular wand.”

Severus glared at him. “When I want your advice, I'll ask for it.”

Hermione had retrieved her own instaspell wand, whose handle she had covered with a thin layer of wood. “See this symbol?” she said, pointing to a symbol that resembled an old-fashioned camera. “This is JellyTin. You only see content from people whose content you want to see.”

“I don't want to see anyone's content,” grumbled Severus, tapping the symbol. The air in front of him lit up with dozens of inane images of wizards and witches, including Draco pouting.

“Not even Pliny Amberdown's?” asked Hermione, using a fingertip to scroll down the images to an image of the largest death cap mushroom Severus had seen in his life. “He posts the most beautiful things from ingredient hunts all over the world.”

“Can I see that and nothing else?”

Hermione smiled. “Press 'subscribe,' down here,” she said.

A message printed in friendly letters congratulated him on following his first account, which made him roll his eyes.

“What's this?” he asked, as a small green bubble popped up in the corner of the projection.

“Someone's subscribed to your stream,” said Draco. “Probably an Inferius account.”

Severus snorted. “Naturally, the cursed dead joined JellyTin before I did.”

“That's what we call accounts that don't actually have a person behind them,” explained Hermione. “Someone's done some arithmantical algorithms that automatically follow new accounts, assuming new users will subscribe to them as well, and then inundate your stream with advertisements for sexual potency potions of dubious efficacy. We have a small team dedicated to stamping them out as soon as they're reported, but we can't stop people setting them up, at least not yet.”

Severus poked the green dot, which expanded into a stream of images of rolling green fields ringed by ancient stone buildings, magnificent-looking cheeses, and more than a few images of an absurdly healthy-looking cow, frequently bedecked with flowers, and occasionally costumes.

“_Bonheur de Vache_,” read Draco. “Unfortunate name, but decent images, though I'm not sure the cow looks well in velvet.”

Severus quite liked cheese, especially posh French cheese, and the cow pictures were charming, so he followed the cheesemaker back.

“I'll leave you two to it then,” said Hermione. “Severus, do let me know when you have something for me to read.”

“Hang on, Granger,” said Draco, pulling his attention away from Severus's scrolling. “Mother's throwing a fundraiser for her stupid House Elf relocation charity. Want to gate-crash it with me? She'll be terribly annoyed, but you're too well-known for her to do anything about it.”

An interesting play of emotions washed across Hermione's face. Severus was about to tell his godson to piss off, when Draco raised a placating hand.

“Before you refuse. Yes, I have an ulterior motive, but not the one you think. Father's gone missing and Mother won't answer my owls. She keeps Grimmauld Place locked up like a mokeskin purse, and this party may be the only chance I get to talk to her before she cuts off my allowance, plus it'll allow me the chance to look for any sign of Father. You lived there for a while, didn't you?”

“One miserable summer,” she said, crossing her arms.

“Perfect. If there are any secrets hidden behind the new walls and floors, we'll find them. You can't say no.”

“I could,” said Hermione, glancing from Draco to Severus and back. “But I don't think I will.”

Draco grinned. “Fantastic. I'll pick you up on Friday at eight. I'll drop some hints on JellyTin for the Draconites. Also, I'll send over something for you to wear. I'm not particular, but Mother's set is.”

“That won't be necessary,” said Hermione.

“No offence, Granger, but your look, while iconic, is not exactly the sort of thing one wears to a party.”

“I know perfectly well how to dress for a party,” snapped Hermione. “But more to the point, if we're going to be breaking into spaces where we're not welcome, I'd just as soon come prepared, and that means altering things to accommodate discreet tools and supplies.”

“Oh,” said Draco, who clearly hadn't thought of that.

“If you're finished with your flirtatious banter?” said Severus, glaring at them both.

Hermione flushed deeply. “Right, I'll see you Friday.”

She scurried out the door as soon as Severus unlatched it.

Draco nodded to himself. “Right, that'll settle Mother. But on to important matters: here are the JellyTin accounts you simply must follow.”

Severus sent up a silent prayer to whatever gods might be able to deliver him from Draco's enthusiastic, jargon-filled rambling. Alas, they remained silent.

* * *

Hermione Granger's brain was a force to be reckoned with when she set it to accomplishing a task, no matter how important or how frivolous the task. Thus, when invited to a charity event during which she would likely be doing a spot of some breaking, entering, and concealment, naturally her first stop was Flourish and Blotts, which not only had a small section devoted to magical fashion, but also had very large front windows through which Hermione could watch well-heeled passersby and see what they were wearing and where they were buying.

She soon identified a small storefront several doors down through which fashionable women were disappearing and reappearing with plain garment bags and parcels wrapped in brown paper. That had to be the place. After purchasing a book on infamous robberies, she squared her shoulders and made her way through the crowded alleyway to the store, whose front window proclaimed it to be _Lavender_. Several bouquets of the namesake flower wafted fragrance from vases mounted on either side of the door.

She'd heard about this place. Not from the fashionable set it served, of course, but because it was founded by her former housemate Parvati Patil, who had named her bespoke boutique for their late housemate. She felt a sudden wash of shame for having thought that the decision to do so was a bit tacky. What better way to honour the memory of Lavender Brown than with beauty and style?

The door swung open to admit an older woman in purple robes trimmed elaborately with gold, and Hermione stepped into the shop. It was brighter than expected, with skylights pouring light on gorgeously-clad mannequins, which swished fluidly around their raised plinths, striking elegant poses.

Hermione wandered over to a wall of sumptuous fabrics, her fingertips whispering along a sample of dark blue iridescent silk, which winked with lights that looked like stars in the evening sky.

“Can I help you?” asked a voice at her elbow, and Hermione turned to find a shop girl in her early twenties, impeccably tailored in cobalt lace, regarding her curiously.

Hermione tried not to look down at herself in dismay. “I'm just looking, thanks.”

“Was there anything in particular you were looking for?”

“I've just been invited to an event on Friday, but I know there's not enough time to have something made, but—“

The girl squealed. “You're going to the House Elf benefit? Oh, how thrilling! Did you know Draco Malfoy is going to be there?”

“Erm, yes,” said Hermione. “I'd heard.”

“We must find you something,” said the girl, practically dragging Hermione into a curtained-off cupboard that was piled from floor to ceiling with shoes of every colour and style. “First things first.”

She held up a magnificent pair of emerald stilettos, and Hermione reluctantly shook her head. It wouldn't do to be clunking about Grimmauld Place in those, especially if she needed to beat a hasty retreat.

“Do you have anything without a heel?”

The girl frowned. “For a party?”

“I just want something with a bit more support, that's all. I've, erm, weak ankles.”

“Don't worry about that,” said the girl. “All of our shoes are charmed with anti-gravity and balance charms. You'll barely know you're wearing them.”

Hermione allowed herself to be seated on a stool and her well-worn Oxfords traded for the emerald shoes, which moulded to her feet like a second skin.

“Go on,” said the girl. “Walk in them.”

Hermione did as she was bade and was shocked to find that the girl had been telling the truth. She shifted her balance from foot to foot, but the smooth-looking soles of the shoes gripped the wooden floor well, and despite being pushed forward onto her toes, there was none of the expected pressure on the ball of her foot. She even hopped up and down a few times on one foot to test her balance and the structural integrity of the shoe, and found herself deeply impressed.

The girl grinned. “Are those the ones?”

Hermione was about to say yes, but paused. “They're the same colour as the suit Draco had on today.”

“Merlin, you're right!” she gasped. “You're a Draconite, too?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, that settles that. We've got to put you in a complimentary colour. Platinum, perhaps?”

“Persephone!” called a voice from outside the cupboard. “I need you to wrap up Mrs. Broadmoor's cape. And have you owled out the tweed macintosh to France yet?”

“Coming!” called Persephone. “I'll just be a moment. Let me know if any of the metallics strike your fancy?”

“Ta,” said Hermione, who had already seized a pair of gold sandals and hoped they would be as comfortable as the first pair. She hadn't imagined how much fun this type of research could be.

After deciding against two pairs of sandals and a silver mule, Hermione heard the click of court shoes approach. “What do you think of these?” she asked, holding up a pair of rose gold gladiator sandals.

There was a soft snort from behind her. “With denim trousers?”

Hermione spun around to find herself face to face with Parvati Patil. She was resplendent in orange shantung silk, and her generous mouth was twisted into a wry smirk.

Hermione paused, uncertain what to do until Parvati swept her up into a fragrant, expensive-smelling hug.

“Circe, it's been a long time,” said Parvati.

Hermione swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Too long,” she whispered hoarsely.

“And what's all this I hear about you going to Narcissa Malfoy's benefit? How on earth did you wrangle an invitation?”

“It rather fell into my lap,” said Hermione weakly.

“I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you'd find a way in, with S.P.E.W. and all,” said Parvati, crinkling her nose. “I've sent Persephone on a few final fittings. She said she had someone who was planning to seduce Draco Malfoy at the benefit, so I had to see for myself. She's rather drawn the wrong conclusion, hasn't she?”

Hermione snorted. “Yeah, a bit.”

“Well, there isn't time to do anything completely bespoke,” said Parvati. “But if we can find a sample you like, we can alter it for you. Are those your shoes?”

Parvati's inquiry was neutral, but Hermione felt a bit wrong-footed all the same. “Do you think they're formal enough?”

“That's not important,” said Parvati. “How do they make you feel?”

“Like slaying something,” said Hermione.

“Then those are your shoes,” said Parvati, whisking them out of Hermione's hands and leading her into a side room that was perhaps less grand than the show room but was filled to bursting with racks and racks of robes, gowns, skirts, blouses, and capes of every description except “tacky” or “cheap.”

Parvati bustled amongst the racks, plucking items seemingly at random and levitating them behind her with practised efficiency.

“This will set off your hair and skin well, and it's a warm enough platinum not to clash with the rose gold. The silver may be a tad cool, but I want to see it on you before striking that entire family from the list of possibilities. I don't know how you feel about showing a bit of leg, but a split skirt will look phenomenal with the sandals.”

Hermione quite liked the idea of flashing some leg but worried that anything secreted in her garter might be revealed. She glanced at her former classmate, whose seemingly effortless charms were every bit as splendid as they had been during their Dumbledore's Army days in the Room of Requirement.

With that, Hermione made a decision.

“One second, Parvati,” she said. “I have some particular requirements for Friday, besides looking amazing, which I'm certain I will.”

“What sort of requirements?”

“I need to be able to move easily, and I need loads of concealed storage,” said Hermione.

“Don't you still have that bag with the Undetectable Expansion Charm on it? Oh!” she said, interrupting herself. “Everyone knows about that, and given the notoriety of the family, I'm sure Narcissa will be asking all the guests to check their bags and wands.”

“Besides, it's seen better days,” said Hermione, retrieving the well-loved bag from a pocket of her robe.

Parvati accepted the threadbare purse, from which most of the beads had long since fallen, and ran her fingertips around the opening. “You did a good day's work on that bag,” she said. “It's only the outside that's falling apart.”

“A good month's work, you mean,” said Hermione, pleased nonetheless. “There's a reason you don't come across that charm very often.”

“I could make you a decoy,” said Parvati. “A clutch with a bog standard Expansion Charm on it to make them think they've got the genuine article. And I could sew this one into a pocket.”

Hermione grinned. “That would be brilliant! I could fit an Erumpent into that if I needed it.”

Parvati giggled. “You are planning an interesting evening, aren't you? In any event, I'd recommend a few more concealed places, just in case. Mokeskin décolleté wallets are popular, as are gauntlet bracelets for instaspell wands, and you are entering enemy territory.”

“You don't think the bag pocket will be too obvious?”

“Merlin, no,” said Parvati, grinning. “Nobody will expect a witch's formal robes to have pockets at all, much less undetectable expanded ones. But bearing that in mind, I'm going to have to look for something with a different silhouette.” She cast her previous selections back to the racks with a quick whip of her wand.

Hermione walked along the racks, letting her fingertips trail along the sumptuous fabrics when she stopped at a gown made of oddly textured black fabric, which was shot through with silver. “What's this?”

Parvati paused to look after taking a white gown trimmed with black off the rack. “Silver shine polyether, but it won't work at all with your sandals,” said Parvati.

“I know, I just haven't seen anything like it, and it feels, well, a bit weird.”

“It's Charmed to appear a different size than it actually is,” said Parvati. “Some witches swear by it, others feel it's cheating. Me? I just stock the newest fabrics so nobody will know for certain that it's polyether, and emphasise natural silhouettes. Actually, now you've given me an idea. What do you say to a polyether bag? Not in silvershine, of course. Possibly antique gold, depending on what we end up choosing for your dress.”

Hermione poked her finger into the polyether and was satisfied that not only did the finger disappear into the stretchy fabric, her entire hand did as well. “Perfect.”

Parvati made a satisfied sound, and Hermione looked up to see her holding up a set of robes whose overlayer was the light-studded dark blue silk that she'd admired earlier. She couldn't hold back a gasp.

“I believe we've found your gown,” said Parvati, grinning. “Now, let's get it on you and kit you out with a few more secret weapons. One can't be too careful with Malfoys, even the ones that look decorative.”

* * *

Much to Severus's consternation, it was getting late, and the manuscript for the final book of his contract had still not written itself. Nor had an edited version of his penultimate manuscript come from his erstwhile best friend, despite several increasingly terse notes, the deliverer of which he chose only after the wizard in the post office warned him the owl was a biter.

On the bright side, he had learned how to use several messaging mApps, found nearly twenty JellyTin accounts to follow, and had learnt that _Bonheur de Vache'_s cow mascot's name was Juliette. This, however, got him no closer to progress on the writing front, and shutting his instaspell wand in a drawer hadn't magically made wise words flow from his fingertips.

He closed the lid of his laptop with a bit more force than was warranted, and once the quiet machine had shut down, silence descended, interrupted only by the squeaky strains of Schubert emanating from the bin, thanks to Cissy's blasted envelope.

Why he hadn't incinerated the bloody thing days ago was beyond him. And it was now—wait, what day was it? He pulled the instaspell wand to check. Friday. At least the rubbish would be emptied tomorrow. And he'd have an excuse to leave his office during daylight hours without guilt over not working on his book while they cleaned.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. Cissy's party would be well underway by now. He resisted the sudden urge to check JellyTin, but only just. Draco could be thoughtless, but he wasn't foolish enough to live-post _sub rosa_ reconnaissance.

Severus sighed. Even if Narcissa did know where Lucius was, which seemed unlikely, given that she'd asked his advice on the best way to ask Lucius for a divorce some months ago, he doubted she would be in possession of anything that could lead them to him. The whole thing struck Severus as a fool's errand, but if it made Draco happy and temporarily distracted Granger, it would hopefully mean fewer interruptions.

Though if Severus was honest with himself, interruptions were far superior to doing nothing. And Granger's were never exactly unpleasant. She hadn't Lucius's way with irony, of course, but her precise, efficient observations made for tolerable conversation, and he appreciated the way her easy laugh made his office feel warmer. He'd become rather used to her visits over the years, looked forward to them even. It was odd to think that they'd soon come to an end.

Oh.

Perhaps that was why he hadn't been working particularly hard to locate Lucius.

Perhaps that was why his creative mind seemed determined to fight him on his final manuscript.

Perhaps that was why he found the way his godson looked at Hermione so irritating.

Severus sighed, wondering if his final book shouldn't be called _Discovering the Painfully Obvious for Dunderheads_.

Still, coming to an understanding with himself really didn't make that much practical difference. He still hadn't heard from Lucius and had no idea where he was. He was still under contract to write a book he didn't care about. And a woman that he'd finally admitted to himself that he tolerated was on a date with a flashy ethernet celebrity who happened to be his godson.

His stomach growled, which was at least one thing he knew how to fix, as Draco had been kind enough to load a mApp called Nosh4Dosh on his instaspell wand.

Ten minutes later, an owl tapped on his office window bearing a steaming package from The Leaky Cauldron that smelled like heaven.

Technology was truly magic.

* * *

Severus was awakened from a postprandial zizz by an unfamiliar sound: the locking mechanism of his office door clicking open of its own accord and the door swinging open.

He jerked into wakefulness with a rush of adrenalin and seized his wand, ready to hex whomever had managed to overcome the cold iron works, but he held his fire when a House Elf appeared in the doorway dressed in a light blue ruffled pillow sham and bowed.

“Ducky is sorry to intrude,” she squeaked. “Mistress Hermy is saying that she and Master Draco are coming and is needing your help.”

Severus had no response other than to gawp as Ducky set about to tidying up his office, banishing the contents of the rubbish bin with a snap of her fingers as well as the dust that had gathered on the shelves, conjuring a precise duplicate of his guest chair to accommodate both visitors, and even offering him a handkerchief to remove a bit of cottage pie from the corner of his mouth.

No sooner had he returned the handkerchief to Ducky than Hermione came floating through the door in a cloud of dark blue silk, looking lovely as the night sky. Pink gold winked at her ankles, lit by warm points of light that dotted her skirt. Draco, who followed at her heels, looked distinctly worse for wear, his hair and robes in disarray and the knees of his grey trousers were stained.

“Thank Merlin,” said Hermione, smiling at Severus and nodding at Ducky, who shut and latched the door behind her. “Sorry to drop in on such short notice, but your office has more effective defences than my flat, and we couldn't exactly go there after that.”

Severus crossed his arms. “After what, precisely?”

Draco sighed and flopped dramatically into one of the chairs. “Let's just say that if Mother hadn't already decided to cut off my allowance, she would have done so after this evening. At least now I know why.”

Severus glanced at Hermione for clarification.

“We'll get to that,” she said. “But first things first.”

She reached down into the floaty fabric of her skirt with both hands and proceeded to pull open a large pocket concealed therein.

“It's all right,” she said. “You're safe here.”

A pop-eyed face appeared in the aperture and looked from side to side. Apparently satisfied with Severus's office, a House Elf leapt out of Hermione's pocket. This one was dressed in something resembling livery if liveries were made of upholstery, with neat rows of buttons that appeared to have once been part of a tufted sofa.

“Thank you, Mistress Hermy,” he squeaked, bowing and stepping back. Ducky padded over from the bookshelf she'd been quietly arranging and took his hand.

To Severus's amazement, a dozen more House Elves, including several elflings, emerged from Hermione's pocket.

“So you stole the beneficiaries of your own mother's charity event,” said Severus, smirking at Draco.

“Beneficiaries my eye,” said Hermione darkly, picking up one of the elflings who had raised his tiny arms to her and cradling him as she sat down in the other chair. “First off, calling it a charity event to benefit abandoned Elves is grossly misleading. They haven't been abandoned—they all have families. It's just that every last member of those horrible families was sent to Azkaban for life after evading justice for years. Secondly, have you any idea what 're-homing' the Elves consists of? Nothing less than binding them into servitude all over again, just to a new master!”

“The idea is that it's less cruel to the loyal retainers to give them a family to serve if they're prevented from fulfilling their sworn duties while their family is incarcerated,” said Draco. “I'm not saying it's right,” he said, raising his hands in surrender as Hermione shot a furious look his way. “But most of these people, myself included, have had House Elves in the family for so long none of them have any clue of how the original contracts were made. Merely that they are property to be inherited. No offence,” he said to the elfling, who promptly began fussing.

Ducky accepted the elfling from Hermione, slid him beneath her pillow sham, and began to nurse him.

Hermione returned Ducky's smile. “Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself. I know neither of you will believe this any more than the Gringotts Goblins did, but I really had no intention of freeing enslaved creatures when I agreed to go. We went in search of answers, and we found some of them.”

“It was brilliant,” said Draco, a crooked smile lighting his features. “Mother was absolutely incensed to see her, but couldn't say a thing. So of course she and her awful friends decided to give us the cold shoulder, which couldn't have been more helpful to our mission.”

“The ground floor looks completely different from how it was before,” said Hermione. “She tore down most of the walls and moved the study upstairs where the parlour was. The Elf heads are still on the ground floor, but moved, and the Black family tapestry now occupies a place of honour behind the dining table, hex holes and all.”

“What about Walburga and her Permanent Sticking Charm?” asked Severus.

“Moved her upstairs, along with the wall her portrait was stuck to,” said Hermione. “I always wondered nobody in the Order thought of that,” said Hermione.

“We did,” said Severus. “However, Albus discovered that removing any part of the wall would have broken the spell that made the house Unplottable, which would have defeated the purpose of using it as Order headquarters.”

“Anyway,” said Hermione, “despite the elaborate renovations, there's still no toilet on the ground floor, so everybody was making discreet trips upstairs. It was easy to keep going up unnoticed because everybody was pretending they weren't actually there.”

“It didn't take her long to realise that Mother had Disillusioned the stairs leading further up and cast Pall of Darkness on the landings,” said Draco. “Lucky for me Hermione knows her way, even in the dark.”

“She hardly touched the upper floors, save for some new furniture and a coat of paint,” said Hermione.

“Looks like the decision to cut me off without a cent to my name was because she blew the lot on renovating the lower floors,” said Draco.

“Still, that did make it easier for us,” said Hermione. “She converted the small bedroom on the third floor into an enormous dressing room off the master bedroom, and she keeps important papers in her vanity drawer.”

“Honestly, it's like she can't be bothered to Slytherin any more,” said Draco. “The important document in question was her marriage contract, and she even put a sticky flag on the important bit. That bit being the common law divorce clause, wherein if the _paterfamilias_ doesn't set foot in his ancestral home for six months, he's effectively abandoned their marriage, and the _mater_ ceases to be part of the _familias_, though of course she's free to remarry. And it just so happens that the last time I heard from Father was about six months ago.”

Severus mulled this over, surprised that his off-the-cuff suggestion that Cissy look for marriage contract loopholes had borne fruit. Given how much closer Severus was to Lucius than to Cissy, he wondered that she'd asked his advice at all. Still neither of them relished the protracted legal spectacle that Cissy suing Lucius for divorce would generate. But that didn't explain why Lucius had decided to go along with Cissy's plan or why he wasn't answering Severus's or Draco's owls.

It would seem logical to conclude that Cissy had done something to Lucius, but he had known both of them for too long to think Cissy capable of violence or Lucius incapable of weaselling out of anything short of the Dark Lord's return in that span of time.

Still, this was far more information than he had expected them to find. Not that he was about to let them know that.

“I don't suppose you found anything else of import?” he said, trying to sound less interested than he actually was.

Hermione and Draco looked at one another, and to Severus's surprise, Draco turned bright red.

“We did, rather,” said Hermione neutrally.

“I should have known immediately,” said Draco, bitterly. “Normally, Mother wouldn't be caught dead in polyether, for all that I didn't even notice until after...” he trailed off with a dismissive gesture.

“A House Elf caught us while we were reading the contract,” said Hermione.

“Diddly,” said Draco. “He belongs to the Manor, so the divorce clause must not have been activated just yet. Anyway, I was trying to convince him that I was just giving Hermione a 'private tour,' but he was frantically trying to shoo us away, and that's when we heard it.”

Severus was starting to get impatient with his godson's asides. “Heard what?”

“The baby,” said Hermione.

The Knut that was Draco's snide comment about Narcissa wearing polyether suddenly dropped, and Severus's jaw went with it. “_What?”_

“Apparently, I have a half-brother,” said Draco. “A newborn half-brother with ginger hair and an even redder complexion. I knew Mother worked with Weasley at the Ministry when she was planning the benefit to ensure things were on the right side of Elvish welfare rules. I hadn't reckoned on how closely.”

“There but for the grace of Circe...” muttered Hermione, then her face darkened. “It's just like him to bend the House Elf protection rules for a pretty face. Still, it seems she got significantly more out of it than she'd bargained for.”

“Really, Granger. That's my mother you're talking about.”

“Sorry,” said Hermione, grinning. “Anyway, Diddly knew there was no stuffing that djinn back in the lamp, so he did the only thing he could think of: he Apparated us to the basement to keep us away from the other guests and try to find a way to keep us from making a scene. And of course, that's where they were keeping the 'abandoned' Elves prior to the bond-transfer ritual. I saw the elflings and, well, I might've got a bit angry.”

“She was incandescently furious,” said Draco approvingly. “And of course we found everything beautifully _mis en place_ for the ritual. And Granger being Granger, how could she not seize the opportunity to use the ritual to free them?”

“Only the Elves who wanted to be free,” said Hermione. “There were seven others who wanted to continue 'serving' a new family. Ugh, I do loathe that word.”

“It's the only thing they know how to do,” said Draco, shrugging.

Hermione looked at Draco sharply, and then her eyes turned thoughtful.

“Draco, can you take a quick Jelly of us and the Elves? If you don't mind, I mean.” Hermione inclined her head at the Elves in apology.

“We is proud to help Miss Hermy,” said Ducky, whose elfling was now asleep in her arms.

“For the love of all that's magical!” exclaimed Severus. “You've brought over a dozen free Elves to my office, have no plan for housing and feeding them, all of Pureblood society is furious with you, and I wouldn't be surprised if the Aurors were already on the case of whether or not you broke any laws in freeing them, and you want to post a Jelly of it?”

“Humour me,” said Hermione. “Draco, go ahead.”

Draco shrugged to straighten his robes and ran his fingers through his hair. “All right, Granger, pop over in front of that book case. Uncle Severus, can you please light your wand and aim it into the corner? It's a bit dark in here and that'll look slightly more natural. Elves, gather in front of us, be sure to let the mum Elves in front, we need to see those beautiful elflings. You there, the tall one. Stand directly in front of me. The Draconites don't need to see the shameful state of my trousers.”

The Elves giggled and followed his orders and Draco put his arm around Hermione's shoulder. Severus was pleased to see that the gesture was far more brotherly than flirtatious.

Draco put his instaspell wand on auto-levitate in order to fit all of them in, but when the Jelly was posted, with more magtags than Severus thought possible, he couldn't help notice that the brightest thing in it was Hermione's smile.

* * *


	2. Chapter Two

Severus awoke the next morning at Spinner's End to the aroma of cooking bacon and the sound of an owl tapping at the spotlessly clean window. He groaned, mostly out of habit, since his half-remembered dreams had been unusually pleasant, hauled himself out of bed with slightly fewer creaks than usual, and went to the window. Any lingering sleepiness evaporated when he saw that the familiar-looking owl bore a manuscript-sized package that had been retied with twine.

At last!

He hurriedly pulled open the window, distracted the owl with a pile of treats on the sill, and relieved the owl of its burden.

The twine gave up its knots with relative ease, the enchanted paperboard lid slid off easily, and there was his manuscript, generously marked with Lucius's flamboyant script in his favourite emerald ink. Severus flipped through the pages, which were no more or less marked than every other manuscript he had received from Lucius, with no note, or anything else to indicate why comments that usually took him a few weeks had taken nearly six months.

Not that it mattered. Lucius was still alive and well, wherever he was, and Severus finally had his manuscript.

There was a soft pop from the corner of his room as a House Elf appeared.

“Breakfast is ready, Master Severus,” said the House Elf, an elderly male whose left ear had seen better days.

“Thank you,” he said, putting the manuscript back into the bottom of the box. There was no time to waste. First, washing and dressing, then to his Diagon Alley office to integrate Lucius's comments, then get them off to his publisher as soon as possible. The House Elves had already cleaned everything in his office that could be cleaned, so he could simply leave a note on the door for the cleaners not to disturb him. If he was very lucky, he could integrate the edits in a day or two.

“Mistress Hermione and Master Draco are downstairs,” said the Elf. “They is asking to see you.”

“Ah,” said Severus, whose imagined stretches of uninterrupted editing time were evaporating.

After going through an abbreviated version of his morning ablutions, which were made all the more efficient by his new self-appointed valet, who seemed well-accustomed to helping grumpy masters prepare for the day, he brought his manuscript downstairs and found Hermione's belongings folded up on the sofa with a pillow and some old linens, which appeared to have been slept on. The woman herself, back in her usual black robes and blue jeans, was breakfasting at the kitchen table with his godson, who was reading _The Daily Prophet_ whilst wearing an artistically rumpled pair of linen pyjamas.

“Do make yourselves at home,” said Severus.

Hermione had the grace to look slightly abashed. “I'm so sorry to have imposed on you like this,” she said. “But the House Elves informed me that Magical Law Enforcement is camped outside my flat. Fortunately, I always keep a spare cupboard's worth of clothing in my bag, so I don't need to go back for some time.”

“The Manor is equally besieged,” said Draco. “Not that they can do much to get in, bless them. However, the Manor Elves are in an uproar over what happened last night, and I'd just as soon give them some space to settle things. You should read what they wrote about us in _The Prophet_!”

“I'd rather not,” said Severus, holding the manuscript box to his chest. “And it doesn't matter to me whether you come or go, as I'll be in my office for the foreseeable future.”

“Is that what I think it is?” asked Hermione, brightening.

“I should have something for you to review in the next few days,” he said. “That is, if you haven't been sacked from the Ministry by then.”

“They can't sack me,” said Hermione. “I already quit. But I'm happy to take a crack at your book for old times' sake.”

“Well, if you're looking to downsize, I'm looking to share a cheap flat now that my allowance has been cut off,” said Draco.

This was a tear too far for Severus. “For Merlin's sake, boy, you have a bloody manor house to live in!”

“The Manor belongs to my father,” said Draco. “And I wouldn't live there if you paid me.”

“Advertisers might,” said Hermione. “Do you honestly mean you haven't leveraged any of the companies who use your Jellies to promote their brands for compensation?”

“That just seems so tawdry,” said Draco, wrinkling his nose. “I've seen sponsored Jellies and they're the epitome of bad taste.”

“You accepted a case of whisky just last week in exchange for using one,” said Severus.

“That's different. That's bartering. Isn't it?”

“Don't pretend to know anything about earning a living. It doesn't suit you,” said Severus.

There was a quiet cough, and Severus turned to see the wonky-eared Elf standing next to his kitchen counter, where a full English breakfast had been laid out, along with his great-grandmother's flowery china that he swore he'd buried so far in the cellar that it'd never see the light of day.

Severus swore without real anger, set his manuscript on the table, took a plate and began to fill it. “Am I to be thus afflicted with help?”

The Elf grinned toothily at him. “Pugey is happy to serve.”

“Not without some sort of compensation, I hope?” said Hermione.

“We is in talks to form a union,” said Pugey.

“That'll go over like a lead Snidget with the Manor elves,” muttered Draco. “Still, it'll do you good to have Elves helping maintain the place. There's not a single Jelly-worthy location in this whole rotten house.”

“The garden's lovely,” said Hermione.

Severus's heart lifted with the compliment to the one part of the house he lavished attention on, even as he shoved it ruthlessly back down into place. There was no need to look like a lovesick fool, even if he was, a bit.

“Yes, but it's _outside_. That's not at all my thing. If I pose myself amongst the plants and whatnot, I might as well start farming. Perhaps oats. Do people still farm oats?”

Hermione giggled. “You are absolutely useless.”

Draco grinned. “Thank you. I try.”

Severus took a large bite of sausage and hoped his glower wasn't too obvious.

“Speaking of farming,” said Hermione. “I'm going to France today to follow up on something. Do you think you'll be back by supper, Severus?”

“An invitation to dinner in my own home. How could I refuse?”

Hermione blinked at his bitter tone, then shrugged. “Sorry. I'll give you some space. Do owl when you have something for me to read.” she said briskly.

Bollocks. He'd put his foot in it. ”Don't be absurd. Here's the safest place for you.”

“I do actually possess friends who aren't connected with the Ministry,” she said. “Besides, I'm quite capable of taking care of myself.”

“Of course you are,” said Severus, impatiently. “But that doesn't mean you have to all the time.” He took a deep breath, hoping she wouldn't see right through him. “Stay here. If you like.”

She gave him a small smile. “All right, then.”

“I'll stop for dinner at eight,” he said, accepting a gingham-wrapped bundle of food and flask of tea from Pugey.

“See you then,” said Hermione, smiling.

Severus felt a bit of panic rise in his throat as her luminous brown eyes met his his. He momentarily forgot how to breathe, and his heart began to hammer, protesting the lack of oxygen intake.

He cleared his throat, pulled himself up to his full height, and nodded. “Hermione. Draco,” he said, then spun on his heel and Disapparated.

* * *

As the echo of Disapparation faded in the small kitchen, Hermione looked at Draco. “Is he always so pleasant in the morning?”

“No,” said Draco. “I think Uncle Severus is sweet on you. What a horrid thought.”

Hermione swatted his arm with the newspaper. “Don't.”

“All right, he's not completely hopeless as prospects go, if you can get past the personality, the tendency towards self-neglect, and the nose.”

Hermione stifled a snort. “You're awful.”

Draco narrowed his eyes in thought. “Actually, the more I think about it, the more sense it makes. You've got a lot in common, and he obviously thinks well enough of you—he wouldn't let you read his unpublished work, else. You even dress similarly. Between that and practically drowning in one another's eyes this morning, I expect things could turn serious quickly.”

Hermione opened her mouth and closed it again. “Are we really having this conversation?”

Draco held up his hand to forestall her protest. “I have to say my bit as a family member. He hasn't got anyone else to say it for him.”

Hermione sighed. “Fine.”

“All right. Granger: if you decide to pursue Uncle Severus, you had better ensure your intentions are honourable.” Draco continued, ignoring Hermione's strangled sound of protest. “I mean, for someone who loves creative problem solving as much as you do, he's a pretty impressive knot that I suspect you're itching to untie. But then what? The man is a hopeless romantic, for all that he'd sooner drink poison than admit it. Just don't accept his heart if you have any doubts that could lead to you breaking it. That's all I'm saying. That, and please encourage him to let the House Elves redecorate. His mother may have had an impressive pedigree, but that particular chintz is never coming back.”

“You can tell him that yourself momentarily,” said Hermione, standing up and brushing the breakfast crumbs from her robe. “I've got to go.”

“That's all the response I get for that wonderful speech?” asked Draco with exaggerated hurt.

Hermione gave him a slow round of sarcastic applause.

Draco nodded grandly before pausing. “Wait, what do you mean momentarily? He said he'd be back at eight.”

“Yes,” said Hermione. “But he's left his manuscript on the table. If there's any truth at all to your speculations, the only reason he hasn't come back for it already is to give me time to leave.”

“Oh,” said Draco, rising. “Fair point.”

Hermione pulled out her instaspell wand, consulted a mApp, then turned on her heel and Disapparated.

“Bloody drama queens, the pair of them,” muttered Draco, filling his plate. “Pugey, what say you and I discuss the state of the place, man to Elf?”

“Pugey serves Master Serverus's family, and Master Draco is family,” he said, bowing.

Draco grinned. “Today might not be quite so boring after all.”

* * *

Hermione was grateful she'd had the foresight to get her International Apparation License years ago. Standard Floo travel was very well and good, but it was messy and the smell of smoke clung to her hair for hours afterwards. The village restaurant in the Auvergne that comprised the nearest international Apparation point didn't open until the afternoon, which gave her the chance to cast a quick mapping charm with her instaspell wand and chart her course for the morning.

The farm she sought was pretty much due south, so she set off walking past a medieval turret in a park where small children were playing, stopping for _cafe au lait_ and a croissant at a small cafe on the way out of town. It was a pleasant late spring day, the sunshine warmed the damp air, and the surrounding fields looked and smelled vibrantly green. Even if her hunch was wrong, wandering the French countryside wasn't a bad way to spend a morning when you were wanted for questioning by the Ministry. Undoubtedly, Harry and Ron would have a few none-too-flattering things to say about her jaunt to France, but she had plenty of other things to occupy her mind, not least of which was Draco's absurd notion that Severus was romantically interested in her.

She tutted. She'd given up on dating some time ago when it became clear that men, by and large, weren't so much interested in her as the idea of her. Well, at least those who didn't merit a hasty exit partway through the first course, anyway. Those tended to be only interested in the not inconsiderable sums she'd made from instaspell wands and her better-known mApps. Severus had made a mint on his own, so she doubted his interest, if it actually existed, was financial. His debut book, _Diligence for Dunderheads, _had even been made into a romantic comedy, much to his chagrin.

She couldn't hold back a smile, remembering his exasperated dismay upon viewing the screener copy of the film that the studio had sent. He hadn't the means to watch, so he consented to dinner and a screening at her flat, which was mere blocks from his Diagon Alley office. That was in the early days of her work with hybrid technology, and she'd been so pleased that she'd been able to make the Muggle disc play on the machine she'd engineered to run on a circuit powered by unicorn hair.

At the time, it hadn't felt anything like a date, despite the take-away curry and romantic comedy, largely because the latter was accompanied by a profane running commentary that made her nearly snort the lager he'd brought out of her nose. But in retrospect, it seemed a bit daft that neither of them, or so she had presumed, had seen it in that light. Nor any of their other not-strictly-professional get-togethers over the years, like the handful of Muggle book awards ceremonies in London. Or the time he'd begged her to take him shopping for Muggle clothes when ordered by his publisher to attend one of the press junket events in Los Angeles promoting the film.

They were certainly good friends. She certainly felt closer to him than she did to many of her old schoolmates. But were they more than that? And could they be more?

Her reverie was interrupted by her arrival at a small sign for _Bonheur de Vache _emblazoned with an arrow that pointed in the direction of a gravel road that wound around the side of a hill. A handsome old house perched on its zenith was surrounded by green fields dotted with grazing red-and-white cattle. As Hermione followed the curving road, she soon found that she could make out the picturesque stone barn that featured in many of the dairy's Jellies behind the house, as well as a more modern structure that she assumed was used for the actual cheesemaking.

As she approached a paddock near the house, she received a jolt of surprise to see Juliette the cow bedecked in grapes, flowers and wearing what appeared to be a cow-sized toga, staring good-naturedly at the wizard who had his wand pointed at her.

Even from the back, it was clear that the wizard in question was Lucius Malfoy, the man she sought. He was wearing some kind of linen smock, dark trousers, and heavy leather boots, and his long hair had been intricately plaited, but its flaxen colour was unmistakable, as was the low, supple voice he was using to coax Juliette into posing.

“That's my good girl,” he said, tenderly stroking her forehead with his thumb and running his other hand gently down her neck. “Now if you could just move a bit this way, we'll be able to see your pretty dress.”

To Hermione's surprise, Juliette moved along with his guiding hand, her eyes closing in bliss as he scratched her forehead with his fingertips. “That's it,” he said, nearly too quietly for Hermione to hear. “Now, just stay there for one moment...”

He withdrew from her, and she opened her long-lashed eyes to see where he'd gone, and Lucius gave a satisfied “Ah-hah,” as he tapped the handle of his instaspell wand and swept back from Juliette, then around her in a graceful curve.

“That's it, you good, clever girl!” he exclaimed, plucking the flower garland and red grapes from Juliette's neck and offering them to her as he rubbed her neck.

Juliette munched delightedly on her erstwhile adornments as Lucius unwrapped the carefully-arranged yards of toga from her. It wasn't until the toga was nearly removed that he realised he wasn't alone.

“Oh,” he said flatly. “It's you.”

As Hermione met his eyes, she had the sudden urge to laugh as she tried to reconcile the man gently unwrapping a toga from a cow with the desperate figure he'd been the last time he saw him, lurking hungrily in the shadows as Bellatrix Lestrange tortured her.

“Yes,” she said. “I'm glad you got my message.”

“I ought to have realised it was too obvious to have been from my son,” said Lucius. “You two seem terribly chummy now. I trust he's well?”

“He misses you,” said Hermione.

“He misses his allowance, more like,” said Lucius.

“As does Severus.”

“All he cares about is his next book advance.”

“You know that's not true.”

“No, Miss Granger, I don't,” he said, crumpling the fine white wool viciously in his arms. “Which is why, I presume, they've sent you to test the waters.”

“They don't know I'm here,” said Hermione. “They don't even know that you're here.”

“Am I meant to be impressed with your discretion?”

“Not at all,” said Hermione, giving what she hoped was a winning smile. “It just that I'm passionately fond of cheese.”

“I suggest you avoid that style of misdirection in the future,” said Lucius. “You're not nearly attractive or charming enough to carry it off.”

Hermione's smile thinned. “I'm delighted you feel that way. But being rude isn't going to make me leave in a huff.”

“I should be so fortunate,” said Lucius. “I don't suppose you might consider leaving me in peace if I remind you that none of this is any of your concern.”

“Draco and Severus made it my concern when they asked for my help in finding you. As I'm sure you gleaned from Draco's Jelly, neither of them has actually sided with your wife in any of this, despite her impressive attempts to convince you otherwise. You don't owe me any answers, of course, but you do owe them.”

“Severus has his bloody manuscript now, hasn't he?”

“Yes, but he's still missing his best friend.”

“He's got you now, hasn't he?” said Lucius, who turned away from her, his tone savage.

Merlin and Circe, did all the Malfoys think Severus was pining for her? “Irrelevant,” said Hermione, hoping it actually was. “Look, you're right. This isn't any of my business. But if I sussed out that you were the first person who followed him on JellyTin, Severus won't be far behind, he's certain to tell Draco, and both of them will be very cross that I didn't share this information with them. So you can either reach out to them by eight o'clock tonight, or I'm telling them where you are. I don't particularly care why you ended up here of all places, but I suggest that you get your head out of your arse and stop playing the bloody martyr. Severus is much better at that than you are, anyway.”

Red spots appeared on Lucius's cheeks, and his knuckles tightened around his instaspell wand.“I strongly suggest that you leave of your own accord while you still can.”

Hermione's heart began to pound, despite knowing perfectly well that instaspell wands couldn't be used to cast Unforgivable curses or any of the nastier hexes. And Lucius was savvy enough to know that hexing her would cause an international incident and would most certainly end badly for him. But the fact that the odious man could make her feel mortal fear all over again was infuriating, and Hermione found herself shaking with anger, her own wand clutched tightly in her hand.

“And here I thought spending time with gentle creatures like cows might be good for you,” said Hermione coldly, feeling her body still, her reflexes primed for the least flicker of movement.

Fortunately, her instincts had been correct: Lucius was still more bark then bite. He lowered his wand with a hiss and shoved it into his pocket. “Cows are not gentle,” he hissed. “They are obstinate, filthy, deeply stupid brutes.”

Juliette chose this moment to nudge Lucius's hand with her nose. He whirled on her, his wand raised. But when he met her calm eyes, lowered his hand, and his entire posture deflated.

“You are a horrible creature,” he informed her, and began to scratch under her chin, and she closed her eyes. Then, to Hermione's amazement, Juliette began to make a guttural noise.

Was she _purring_? Could cows purr?

“_Lucius! Avez-vous fini de photographier notre jolie fille?_”

Hermione turned to see the approach of an elderly witch whose wand was stuck into work trousers similar to Lucius's, wiping her hands on a rag and smiling at Juliette's obvious bliss.

“_Oui._ _J'ai aidé cette femme. Elle est perdue,_” he said, jerking his head at Hermione.

Hermione frowned. She wasn't lost, and Lucius certainly wasn't helping her.

“_Eh bien,_” said the witch, opening the paddock where Lucius and Juliette were standing. “J_e vais lui montrer. __Elle pourrait acheter du fromage. Sauf si elle est l'un de ces végétaliens. Non, je ne maigres pas. Viens! Viens!"_

At the mention of purchasing cheese, Hermione was suddenly seized with a wonderful idea.

“Sorry, I don't speak French,” she lied to Lucius. “What is she saying?”

“She says to go with her. She'll give you a tour.”

The witch waved dismissively at Lucius, who was still rubbing the cow's chin. “_Laissez paître Juliette, et viens traduis pour moi!”_

Hermione resolved not to laugh at the look of dismay that crossed Lucius's face as he realised that he was trapped into translating. Reluctantly, he gently shooed Juliette out into the pasture.

The witch smiled at Lucius fondly. “_Je suis ravie que Juliette vous ait trouvé saoul dans le pâturage ce soir-là. __Vous avez été un bon ami avec elle et je ne sais pas ce que je ferais sans vous._"

Hermione hadn't expected her resolve to be tested so sorely so soon. Juliette had found Lucius drunk in a field? She schooled her features to stillness and looked at Lucius with what she hoped was mild inquisitiveness.

“She's thanking me for my help,” said Lucius.

“_Je suis Mathilde_,” she said, holding out a hand for Hermione to shake.

“_Je m'appelle _Hermione,” said Hermione, summoning her most atrocious schoolgirl accent.

Mathilde's face made it clear what she thought of Hermione's attempt at French. “_Mon Dieu, __que leur enseignent-ils à l'école?_" she muttered. "_Lucuis, quel est le mot anglais pour grange?_"

Hermione sent silent thanks to her summer French tutor and followed Lucius and Mathilde towards the barn.

* * *

In the past, Severus would have powered through Lucius's comments in one sitting. And while a small part of him was irritated with himself for agreeing to take a break for dinner, by the time eight o'clock rolled around, he had to admit that his brain had reached the point of diminishing returns, and he was hungry. Not for the first time, he marvelled at Hermione Granger's good sense. And then he marvelled that Hermione Granger possessed anything like sense and had still come to him for advice. He was a right old fraud, holding himself up as an example of a successful career transition when he was currently miserable and couldn't wait to be free of his contract once he'd delivered his final book. Not that he couldn't pay back the advance if he had to, since almost all of his earnings were gathering dust in his Gringotts vault. But it was the principle of the thing.

The first thing he thought upon Apparating back home was that he was going to kill Draco, soon to be followed by any House Elves that had aided and abetted him. Not only had the bookshelves in the living room been rearranged according to the colour of the cover instead of by subject and author name, but the awful cushions his mother had hand-sewed in an attempt to please her mercurial husband were no longer in evidence. If they had actually been Banished, there would be blood.

Fortunately for Draco and the House Elves, he was soon distracted by a heavenly smell emanating from the kitchen and the sight of Hermione Granger pouring a glass of wine. She was wearing something black and short enough to reveal her knees. Blast the woman, even her knees were charming.

She turned and smiled at him. “How's the book?”

“Incrementally improved,” said Severus, scowling as he set his manuscript and laptop on the new coffee table, which was obnoxiously sleek.

Hermione handed him the glass she'd just poured. “Draco said Pugey wouldn't let him throw anything away, so if you hate everything they did, it can be restored.”

“That's fortunate for both of them.”

“Come with me,” she said, smiling. “There's a surprise for you in the garden.”

Severus growled, imagining that his valuable native specimens might have been pulled up as weeds to make way for useless ornamental planting.

“Don't worry,” she said, opening the door to admit him. “Draco and Pugey limited their efforts to inside the house.”

A lovely supper for four had been set up at the far end of the garden, lit with hovering orbs of light. The brick walls separating his garden from his neighbours' had been made twice as tall for privacy, and there, in the glow of the orbs, was Lucius Malfoy chatting with his son.

Severus stared at his friend and felt a complicated mixture of relief and anger, with an unwelcome surge of joy at seeing him after all these months. Lucius was wearing the same black velvet robes he'd been wearing the last time Severus had seen him, and an imperious expression, which he only bothered to do when he was feeling wrong-footed.

Draco turned and saw Severus first, grinned, and steered his father towards Severus.

“Look what the Kneazle dragged in!” he said, grinning. “I knew asking Granger for help would do the trick!”

“Yes, frightfully clever of you,” said Lucius, sounding sulky.

“It's good to see you well,” said Severus, who was a touch disappointed to find that it actually was. Lucius looked annoyingly hale—his skin was positively golden, and there was even a touch of pink in his cheeks.

“You, on the other hand, look terrible,” said Lucius. “You haven't been holed up in that horrid little office of yours all this time?”

“I have a publisher to satisfy,” said Severus stiffly. “I trust Draco has filled you in on what's occurred in your absence?”

“He has,” said Lucius. “We've come to an arrangement of sorts for his potentially commercial use of the Manor for sponsored Jellies.”

Severus hoped his surprise at learning that Lucius knew what sponsored Jellies were wasn't apparent.

“You'll hardly know I'm there,” said Draco. “It takes much less time to pose oneself than to pose an entire cow.”

It took a moment for Severus to understand what Draco had intimated with the cow comment, but when he did, he was certain his surprise was obvious.

Hermione cleared her throat. “I believe the House Elves are ready to serve the first course. Lucius can tell us all about his work. And I have a proposal that I think you'll all be interested in.”

As potentially interested as he was in any proposal of Hermione's, Severus's brain was still attempting to wrap itself around her use of the words “Lucius” and “work” in the same sentence.

Severus took a fortifying sip of wine and sat down, grateful that there were a number of bottles of wine on the table.

Lucius's narrative could be fairly described as surreal.

Lucius had quite sensibly gone on a month-long bender in France after Narcissa announced that she was expecting a Weasley and, upon Severus's suggestion, wanted him to trigger the common law divorce clause in their marriage contract in exchange for making no claim on his assets. However, the bender came to an abrupt end the morning after he'd awoken in a field being tended, perhaps even cuddled, by a cow named Juliette. Having befriended Mathilde's cow, he began visiting _Bonheur de Vache _to see her, first learning the skills of a cowhand, then an apprentice dairyman, and ultimately de facto JellyTin expert. When Draco had promoted Narcissa's House Elf event on JellyTin, Lucius assumed Draco had also chosen Narcissa over him and vowed not to respond to any subsequent owls.

Severus reflected that it was a sign of how subtly the House Elves had refilled their wine glasses that Lucius formally apologised to them both for his error and thanked Hermione for helping him realise he’d made one. For the first time since Lucius had disappeared, he felt the ever-present knot of anxiety in his stomach relax slightly, which was superb timing, as the House Elves’ main course was a succulent bit of beef.

Draco, who was trying and failing not to look too gleeful at the prospect of having his allowance restored, chose this moment to praise Hermione's cleverness in solving the mystery, and admitted that helping to rescue the House Elves had awakened his ambition to become more than a style icon, though he hadn't yet decided precisely what. The little lickspittle even said he hoped he could count on Hermione for advice in the future.

Before he realised what he was doing, Severus had caught Lucius's eye and rolled his own in response to Draco's fatuous flattery, exactly as he would have done before Lucius had left.

A ghost of a smirk hovered at the corner of Lucius's lips before he covered his mouth and gave a quiet cough.

This subtle but unmistakable sign that Lucius truly had forgiven him for his perceived wrongs, and undoubtedly the delicious wine and food, relaxed Severus to the point that the story of his writer's block came tumbling out of him while they ate their pudding: that he had thus far miserably failed to write the one book left on his contract, how much he had grown to hate the idea of writing it, and even admitting that he didn't even know if he wanted to continue writing books in the future.

It felt good to say the words, even if he was feeling a bit soft around the edges, due in no small part to the bewitching woman who sat opposite him. He couldn't help but drink in her smiles, even though he had no idea why she'd brought them all together. He supposed he ought to follow his own advice and be open to the whims of fate on that front.

During a lull in the conversation mid-posh-cheese course, courtesy of Lucius and _Bonheur de Vache, _Hermione rose and cleared her throat.

“Last week, a wise friend of mine suggested that the best way to determine what I wanted to do after leaving the Ministry was to go on holiday, get drunk, and read. Having taken a jaunt to rural France, imbibed more than my share of wine this evening, and read more magtags on JellyTin than I thought ever existed, a solution has indeed presented itself, and I'd like to hear your thoughts.”

Draco blew a raspberry. “That wasn't a wise friend. You said it was Uncle Severus.”

“Gracious boy, I know cows with better manners than you,” said Lucius.

“And better dressed,” said Severus, doing his best to stifle what was probably a giggle.

“As I was saying,” said Hermione, swaying before Severus's eyes like a glorious mermaid in warm Mediterranean waters, “I looked at the lot of us and realised that we're none of us particularly happy right now.”

“I am,” said Draco.

“No, dear boy. You are intoxicated,” said Lucius.

“You'd know,” said Draco.

“I thought that since we're all a bit miserable, we might try to make the world a bit less miserable and cheer ourselves in the process.”

“Does that sort of thing actually work?” asked Lucius in a stage whisper.

“It does, in an odd way,” said Hermione. “Which is why I propose that we form a charitable trust together for the purpose of democratising magical education.”

Severus, Lucius, and Draco blinked at one another with varying levels of incomprehension.

“Why on earth would I want to be part of such a thing?” asked Lucius.

“Firstly, because cheesemaking, while an honourable and I daresay enjoyable pursuit, isn't the sort of thing to satisfy a consummate Slytherin in the long run.”

“And you're an expert on satisfying Slytherins?” asked Lucius, though without real venom.

Hermione shrugged. “I've had no complaints thus far. Besides, being involved with this trust would absolutely infuriate Narcissa.”

Draco giggled. “She's right.”

Lucius narrowed his eyes. “Do go on.”

“Secondly, you believe in the importance of education. I don't for an instant believe that you joined the Hogwarts Board of Governors for the prestige of the position.”

This made both Lucius and Severus snort.

“And finally, forgive me my candour, but the last time you were involved in an exclusive social movement, it didn't go well for you and your family. This would give you the opportunity to remake your reputation into something inclusive. Making Narcissa look old-fashioned would be the icing on the cake.”

“And I don't suppose the Malfoy family fortune factors into this invitation to join your little club at all?” asked Lucius archly.

Draco cackled. “Father, have you any idea how much Hermione is worth from the invention of instaspell wands alone? Uncle Severus isn't exactly hurting, either, not with fourteen best-sellers in print, plus a blockbuster film.”

Lucius frowned at his friend. “You're always moaning about your advances.”

“Well, if I've accepted money to do something, I should fulfil my obligation,” said Severus, feeling discomfited and pleased all at the same time.

“But what's Draco to do with it, then?” asked Lucius, his cheeks flushing. “He hasn't any assets.”

“No thanks to you,” muttered Draco.

“Draco has more JellyTin followers than any other account in existence,” said Hermione. “What's more, if you look at trending subjects, his Draconites are amplifying the House Elf freedom magtags he used last night. They're even pestering Ministry officials to call off their witch-hunt and leave Draco, and by extension, me, in peace. Your photos of Juliette are wonderful, and you've a splendid eye for composition, and if Draco is willing to use his ethernet clout on our behalf, we'd be fools not to take advantage.”

Draco looked downright smug, and Lucius's expression was thoughtful and didn't comment further.

Hermione turned to look at Severus and smiled. “Severus, of course, has an even stronger educational background than any of us,” she said. “His knowledge will be invaluable assessing what proposals may or may not have merit. And of course, I cut my teeth fighting for the rights of beasts and beings at the Ministry. And with Draco's help, the plight of House Elves is once more in the public eye.”

“Wait, we're going to educate beasts and beings?” asked Draco. “Like Centaurs and Goblins and House Elves?”

“If they can do magic, why not?” asked Hermione.

“Huh,” said Draco. “Like with wands and everything?”

“If they can wield them, why not?” said Severus, who was starting to feel downright giddy, especially when Hermione smiled at him like that.

“Huh!” said Draco. “Well, I'm in as long as I get to name the trust.”

“Given your expertise in branding, I'd be willing to trust your instincts,” said Hermione.

“Good. We'll be Trusty McTrustface.”

“I'll have to sleep on it,” said Lucius, hiccuping tiredly. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to be up at dawn to see to the ladies.”

“If you don't mind, Father, I'd like to come with you.”

“Don't be absurd, you wouldn't have the least idea what to do.”

“Like you did six months ago?”

This brought Lucius up short, and for a moment, Severus feared that Lucius was about to shout at his son, when he snorted softly. “If you feel that you must come, you may. But I don't wish to hear a single whinge about the sleeping conditions. And you're not allowed to take any Jellies of Juliette. She is my muse, and I don't share.”

Draco held out his hand, which Lucius accepted and squeezed before they both Disapparated with a loud crack.

Severus hadn't realised how much noise there was in his garden at night until conversation died: the breeze shushing in the leaves, a nearby nightjar. But it all gradually faded as the sound of his heart pounding grew louder, watching the muscles of Hermione's throat as she swallowed her last mouthful of wine.

“That went well, I think,” she said, rising and joining him on his side of the table. He could feel the heat of her leg through the fabric of his robes.

“Better than I'd have expected,” said Severus, grateful his tongue and lips appeared to be functional. Hermione seemed to be testing hers as well, gently trapping her lower lip between her teeth. “For all that I doubt both of them will consent to take part in this harebrained scheme.”

“If we're considering diversity of blood status, we really only need one of them,” said Hermione. “Though I think you and I would make a fairly formidable team, even if neither Malfoy wishes to be involved.”

Severus suddenly realised that her hand was coming to rest on his.

“Thank you,” she said, gently gripping his hand. “I'm not sure I said that before.”

“Unnecessary,” he said gruffly, pleased nonetheless. He wasn't sure what to do. Should he move his hand and take hers? Even if it meant dislodging her hand from where it rested atop his.

“It isn't to me,” she said. “You told me to be open to possibility, and you were right. None of this ever could have happened if it weren't for you.”

Severus was pleased to hear it, but had a very difficult time saying so, because Hermione pressed her lips to his and was kissing him, seemingly with every intention to continue doing so. He considered voicing an observation about the softness of her mouth and the warmth of her hands, which caressed his face, but he ultimately decided that he would much rather keep kissing her back.

* * *

The next morning, as he toyed with a stray curl that kept tickling his nose when he embraced her, he reflected that perhaps _Contentment for the Ambitious_ might be a better title for his final book than his previous working title, _Cash Cows for Charlatans_.

And later that day, as he, Lucius, and Draco took Jellies of Hermione surrendering her wands peacefully to her old boyfriend, who was rather unnecessarily surrounded by his chums from Magical Law Enforcement, Severus couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for Narcissa and Weasley, who clearly had no idea what the Draconites, armed with the new Trusty McTrustface magtags, would have in store for them once news of the scandal broke. He doubted Lucius harboured any such sympathies, and, since Severus nursed hopes of receiving more cheese in the future, he kept his to himself.

And when Hermione returned to Spinner's End the next day, looking a bit tired and dishevelled from her night spent at the courtesy of Magical Law Enforcement, he had a number of other ideas about things he would be keeping to himself, at least until he had the opportunity to discuss them with Hermione.

Thankfully, Hermione had a few ideas of her own, as well.

* * *

The End

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks from the bottom of my heart to Mr. 42 for super, last-minute beta-reading, to Dreamy_dragon73 for a brilliant last-minute Britpick/Frenchpick/gamma-read, to Shiv for such magnificent prompts, and to the incredible fest mods, whose hard work, patience, and good humour is a boon to all!


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